Dream of Him
by LexiRone
Summary: First and Second person tellings, with Bucky Barnes, no continuity between chapters. (It's just fun smut, let's be honest.)
1. Bath

**Author's Note: I don't own anything Marvel. This is not terribly explicit, but I did take the M rating seriously. You've been warned.**

**CH. 2 is gender neutral and first person.**

* * *

_**Bath**_

Vanilla. You can smell it from the hall, dim and steamy.

You see by night lights lining the walls, glowing peach instead of white. You smell lavender next in the thick warm air, grabbing the frame to pivot into the bathroom. Ostentatious, but that is unsurprising, with a panel glass waterfall to obscure the massive tub. You notice bubbles piled over the brim of white porcelain, the corner behind them covered in candles. Is the scent the candles or the bath?

There's a figure behind the waterfall, first dark and thin between the trails then massive as it approaches. Bucky peeks from around the glass, smiling, gliding to your side so naturally, as if he knows he should be right there, next to you. His light eyes are now a dusky blue, and the playful smile morphs into something darker when he looks down your body. His thumb gently nudges your chin to the side to lean forward, planting a gentle kiss at the soft spot beneath your ear, whispering, "come relax."

His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, his knuckles grazing ribs as he pulls the fabric firmly up and away. He likes how you suck in air quickly while he slides his hands, palms to skin, down your hips, locking his thumbs around the waist of your shorts. He kneels to lower the bottoms to the floor, resting his forehead momentarily against your stomach, and before you can compose yourself, you startle at the contact, tensing your muscles away.

Bucky places a large, strong hand behind your thigh to catch you, and the breath that escapes you is more a sigh than an exhale. Your hesitation encourages him to brush his thumb back and forth around the curve of you, lifting his head to face your navel. For a moment, you think he'll lean forward to kiss you, or plunge himself between your legs with your knees over his broad shoulders, but he stands instead and guides you to the bath.

The water is hot, hot enough to keep that momentary sting lingering as it sinks to your muscles, pressing their expansion against your bones. It's delicious. The smell is the bubbles, you think, though the fog of steam and stress and lust blurs things a bit. You descend into the water slowly, letting yourself adjust inch by inch, till you can step from the rim to the ledge to the bottom. The gentle trickle of the waterfall meets the delicate pops of bubbles giving way to your movement. Between breaths, when you can hear everything, the candle wicks make taps of approval, their flames dancing to hypnotize.

You close your eyes, leaning your head back to dip your hair in. You feel a surge in the water, the level rises, and you know he's behind you, watching. He gives you your moment to release the tension of the day, but he enjoys looking at the dripping wet tangles of hair that rise from the bath, the definition of your collarbone, the dip between your shoulder blades. He wins; the night is his.

A furious burst of exploding bubbles tells you he's coming, and the arm snakes around your waist, pulling you back against him as he sits on the ledge. Your ass is spread across his thigh while his fingers wander and play. His breath is hot behind your neck before he kisses and bites across your shoulder. It doesn't hurt, but the primal claim of his teeth to your skin makes you press for more. He is hard against your hip. Sighs evolve to moans, and he won't let you turn, crossing his other arm across your chest to grab your breast and clamp your back to him. The control is liberating. He breathes heavier when you do, kisses more when you moan, moves his fingers to make you sigh.

Bucky wants a scream, and he won't stop until he gets it. You fight it. He likes that. The vanilla hits you when you struggle to inhale, the lavender fills your head. The soft slick of your skin from the sudsy water lessens the friction, but he teases something more lasting. He cradles his face in the the nape of your neck. He groans, but he won't accept begging, pleading, or demands. He'll get his scream.

He kisses beneath your ear again. You give him what he wants.

* * *

**Meant to be a hazy dream-like fluff, but instead of writing in past tense and from my OC Samantha Stark's perspective, I went with this. It's for practice and fun and a bit of context after chapter 27/28 of The Stark Legacy. I prefer this separate so that you all can choose that T or M rating. Let me know what you think!**


	2. Noise

**A/N: Written to be read as first person male or female, as a special treat for all readers, hopefully. This was a good challenge for me. I highly recommend little tests like that when you're stretching your writing skills. Also my first EVER attempt at a physically romantic scene.**

**Warning: Rated M for explicit oral sex. **

**I literally just warned you. You were warned. **

**Enjoy! **

He's aware of how close I'm following behind him in the hall. I can tell by the way he looks at the pictures on the wall, using his periphery to keep an eye on me. He's not subtle, but he thinks he is.

"Turn here—on the left," I say, smiling.

Bucky cocks an eyebrow and actually turns his head enough to look at my face. He doesn't like not knowing what I'm showing him. To be honest, I'm a little surprised he didn't try to get the secret out of me. He could have, pretty easily, because he knows where to tickle. Lord, don't let him touch my feet.

He tries his hand on the key pad, but his fingerprints don't work. I'm tricky like that; the door will only open, from inside or out, for me.

So I let us in—to a small, dark room— and on his face, suspicion is cracking through the facade.

"I promise you'll like it." I only have to keep my smile from looking devious for a few more seconds, until the door is closed. I've probably already broken, or he's figured me out. Maybe he's excited, too, if he knows, which makes my stomach jump.

The bolt on the door slides back into place. When he finds no lightswitch, Bucky turns around towards the faint light on my face, a flash of fear jets though his cool blue eyes.

I step forward to kiss his cheek, to hold his hand in comfort, but it's a lie. The snap of the magnetic cuff is barely covered by the peck of my lips near his ear. I can hear his heartbeat thrum faster.

"What are you doing?"

I trigger the magnet, and Bucky's arm is wrenched back against the wall.

"Seriously, what are you doing?" The tremble is audible now, but not in fear of pain. He knows I would never hurt him, but he does not enjoy my _plans_ quite as much as I do. Bucky doesn't have my imagination.

Three things I'm prepared for: he'll try to take control and stop me, he'll fight enjoying this, and he _will_ love it. So we begin.

His arm is clamped to the wall waist-high. He's getting nervous now. My calm is unnerving him, so I go to hug him. A simple hug, tender, soft.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on? Can I have my hand back, please?"

But he'll be disappointed first. "No."

I drag my hand slowly up the inside of his thigh, back down the buttons of his jeans. He tries to be quiet. He always tries.

He wraps his metal arm around behind me, pinning both my arms to my sides, spinning us against the wall.

"Really," he says very low, "you don't have to do this." It's funny that his training involved absolutely no seduction techniques. I can see right through him; he's attempting to sound husky, masculine, powerful, but inside he's like a terrified little school boy waiting beneath the bleachers.

"Fine." I try to shift my hand to my pocket, but he clenches down. "Do you want me to get the remote or not?"

A slump of guilt weighs on his shoulders. I can't see his face with the frosted glass door behind him. His arm relaxes, and I reach deep into my pocket, withdrawing my hand.

_Click_. _Zap_. The metal arm flies in an arc behind him to pin Bucky with his back against the wall. Cuffs come in pairs.

"You really are predictable," I softly laugh. Like I said, he has reason to fear my plans. I imagine the chaos swirling through his brain. Cries of 'don't' bumping against hesitation, anticipation smacking into fantasies of his own. A bag of cats, I'm sure. Of course, it's all written across his face, the blue of his eyes like a two-way mirror. "Where was I…"

He's prey now, shifting against the wall, cornered to become a meal. My hand returns to the soft fabric over his stomach and slides down. The jeans are pulled taut against him, defying his will to resist this fun. Bucky knows I'll let him go, but I'll know if and when he wants that in earnest. That's what safe words are for.

His breath comes unevenly. He stifles a hiss when my cold fingers tuck under his old, comfy sweater and begin the slow unlatching of the pants. The release of pressure against him with each popping button encourages hardening inside. I deliberately add soft grazes of my fingertips to the real undressing.

I called him at random before, forcing him to dress quickly to meet me, knowing he wouldn't put boxers on in a hurry. Bucky sleeps in the buff. He'll always wear as little as possible when given the choice. It is…convenient.

The skin around his dick is pulled tight enough to see veins, but he needs more contact to spring fully to attention. When my focus returns to his, he watches me with dark eyes and heavy lids. His lips fall slack with desire. I've broken the first layer, interest. My heart swells with pride as does he, under my hand.

Bucky licks his lips, struggling to form a thought. "What are you gonna—" he breathes "—do to me?"

_Well, I ain't gonna be talking to you, genius._ I can feel the smile spread to my cheeks. The outline of my jaw is probably all he can see in this dark. No spoilers.

I lean close enough to exhale hot onto his tense neck before slithering down to my knees.

Bucky's soft, nervous laugh betrays him. "Oh god."

My mouth engulfs the tip of him, and the burst of sensation shifts his arousal towards me and further in. The first crackle of a moan escapes before he steels himself. I raise my hand to hold flat at the base of him, using the other to pull the jeans down around his ankles, piled lax around Bucky's bare feet.

My tongue starts drawing circles on the soft underbelly of his pulsing head. He gets harder by the second, raising to press gently against the roof of my mouth. The slip of his skin against my wet lips…delicious, exquisite, maybe even divine.

Bucky doesn't move with me yet, but I've explained it before: this isn't solely for his benefit. I love to touch him. I love to make him mad with lust. I love to give him reasons to miss me, dream of me, get horny as fuck for me. This is one of my tricks which doubles as a treat.

When I've slipped my way to the root of him, my hand joins in, rolling with soft pressure in rhythm beyond my mouth. This time I elicit a sigh. My thumb pulses along the tender flesh while my mouth bobs a faster beat. I can hear his hitched breaths come in succession of my methodical devouring. He is delicious with an aroma that spurs me to action. The potent smell of sweat and musk, intoxicating.

The next layer brakes, and Bucky openly moans, pleading for more.

My aiding hand drops to cup his balls while I take in his full length to the back of my throat. My other hand snakes up his torso to feel him tense and relax his abs, thrusting for more. He grunts as he succumbs. The pumps of his hips become erratic, primal. He's lost all control now, and I knew he'd love it. Soon, if I train him enough, he'll be addicted to it.

The muttering doesn't stop. He begs in murmurs. This is by far my most successful plot…

"Fuck, I'm close," Bucky pants to the ceiling. Time for his favorite torture.

My hand returns to the base of him, sliding up and down his slick shaft with my mouth. Slow, slow, plunge, roll, slow, lick, plunge. I'm increasing the suction as I go, breaking my grip away from my lips to pump him for more pleasure.

His moan becomes a groan that erupts into a scream that chokes as a breathless sigh.

Another roll of my tongue and slide of my mouth, and he bucks towards me with a tremor down his legs. He continues to shake, emitting soft whines involuntarily.

I release him, swallow, and look up. Bucky's leaning his head back to anchor himself, eyes closed. He slams his back against the wall to steady his ravaged body now that I'm not touching him.

_Check and mate. _I'm pleased to watch him squirm without control, but I don't do this to embarrass him. I only want him to enjoy something devoid of his brain's participation. He may be unbelievable in bed when he is dominant, but I like my bits of fun, too.

I slide up his jeans while his ragged breathing regulates. He's probably trying not to curse at me; the hate would be hollow anyway.

In my pocket, I deactivate the cuffs, and Bucky nearly collapses to the floor. With the metal still locked around his wrists, he dives to take my face in his hands, pulling me into a chaotic kiss. He's lust-drunk and grateful, grabbing whatever parts of me his greedy hands land on first.

Poor puppy. All bark, can't take a bite back. I wonder how he'll take his revenge. I am, after all, the only one who can unlock the door, and he hasn't buttoned his pants yet.


End file.
